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There were those who lit candles a fine method, if the room you’re illuminating has something inside worth seeing. The families in line pictured great dinners
“Nomads, Tattered Pavements and Red Hot Redemption” - Chasing scabs of hematoma finesse, devour flaming beneathA roaming fire ant stumbles upon an enticing physique
The yellow man under the drawbridge saw that I was lost so He asked me for my phone number today For the third day in a row But I said no because it wasn’t the fifth.
Jennifer Brown 10/9/18 Grow From a little seed i grow you let the water flow. I'm not sure why you picked a seed like me
hearing the ancient tale and with a shiver feel a connection with the mind of ancestral souls
In the desert I call home, I am drowning in a sea of pain, Waves of bruises and death pushing me back and forth, Creating a new barrier with every blow,
My chest rises and falls. Rises and falls. I’m still breathing, but to him I’m nothing at all. Days and days past, I’m forgotten and betrayed.
Many can say that Poetry is a simple concept However, they probably don’t understand that it’s difficult to create a piece of literature with technique, symbolism, and depth
Tulips, The color of sweetened cream. Delicate, like the whisper, Lulling you into dreams. Burning crimson, Cutting through chilled air, Precise on a frozen branch,
Red- through the dictionary A color at the end of the spectrum next to orange and opposite violet Red- through the poet The feeling of
Life is not a box of chocolates. Life is an endless ladder that each of us have to climb. It is nothing but an empty dream.
Engraving on the hilt inlaid with gold Newly daubed with tar of flesh and bone A ruddy smearing on the blade Tearing ‘tween muscle, marrow A carving of the heart
Marble halls echo the dirge Mournful walls lament There’s wailing atop the cascade of stone the descending slabs, the threshing floor there’s beating of the pulp
What has poetry taught me? Poems words are used to inspire People to believe People to dream People to succeed Poetry shows the beauty Of the world around us Seen and unseen
my pencils are dull. not because they aren’t tended to, not because they’re like the overused pencils in a kindergarten class. my pencils, they have no sharpener.
Hello! I am the narrator, and this, is my story. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess. Her name was May.
in the beginning the little conductor raises his baton he keeps in time the running symphony inside the cave from the depths within my heart beats a solemn hymn
A warm running Fireplace had to stay Love was needed and some hugs right away It was fifty shades of grey just without the grey Flames flickering tonight but not today
It's getting darker. A tornado tears through lands, But I feel so bad. The impact is colossal. I wonder if it's my fault.
The color red is love, and passion. But scarlet is razors and violent outbursts. Maroon reminds me of my favorite sweatshirt and the hair color of a boy I pursued in 6th grade.
Don't you find it beautiful, How the moon allows the sun to shine, On her precious earth. She loves the earth so much that She allows someone else make it look beautiful.
Eyes heavy, body trembling, nightmares vast. She's harassed by the forecast of the past. Demons disguised in the form of lovers Until she discovered their true colors. She was used and abused,
Eyes cold, glassy Body stiff, unmoving I'm perfect. Body in position. Sit still! Face rosy, smile painted on Any other emotion obliterated, gone. Smile. SMILE! Don't let them see,
The flurry of frozen fractals Shatteered remains of my subconscious Such a buoyant, bright element Holds so much regret, pain Drifting down, Falling to the ground. My mind piece by piece,
The Brain"You're so smart." "Such intelligence is so mature for your age."My books give me knowledge.My good grades.The praise from everyone feeds this false ideology.
Running the streets forever without a lesh they make us dogs. They have the low class citizens jumping for money like frogs. Protests are the usual you see them all the time isnt it obvious the media is using
You've been here a while, yet you do not recall, the wind being always there. Today you now truly see what you've been missing, while you were regressing. You wonder why and think.
Him. A three letter word that titles my biggest distraction. My largest secret. My most unfiltered thoughts. I don't know how these feelings and excuses came to be titled Him,
I'm shaken, I'm shaking but not from the thunder pretty soon then, my heart booms but not from the lightning The weather outside is nothing compared to the way I feel when anxious, hyper, and scared
Thorns reside on a crown where roses once grew Spiraling outward towards the heavens with the arrival of spring It’s winter now. What was once a fiery bush of life
The rose is mineI cherished itIt's something sacred and uniqueSome give it up so fastGive it away at any momentTo a boy or a girl
For Cindy She is the mysterious mesmerizing moon Sitting silently in sorrowful solitude She is encased in darkness
A god sits before his world, created by his own hand. He thinks something is missing and casts his great tool down to add to his world The missing item takes shape according to how he has envisioned it.
His intoxicating music controlled the gopis with such force. They danced and Radharani was feeling great rejoice. Until Krishna left with no choice.
The ever clever fox is so swift Little did she know, she has a gift With a flick of her tail She’ll never fail But the ever clever fox Is about to go through hail You see…
I'm in a darkened room; candlelight.The patrons ask me if I am alright. I nod politely, and turn ahead.The people in front of me are already dead.
Eyes were like a window Transparent as glass Revealing nothing but the slate concrete and ruffled grass beyond them Gripping his sky-clad hand hard, We trekked down the quiet road
Black sand, burning my feet On this island of pestilence I stand Each step, a searing heat But only my heart will it brand. Around me, I am surrounded by dead foliate
The red wings flew Carrying the words of the people They went far as the wind blew. And it caused a ripple.
You ate the moon, Stealing the light out of my sky It's dark inside and outside, And I'm stumbling across the ground The wind shakes the drees And the branches reached for me,
My room, A cage for those who runaway A mirror for those who seek it anyway My room, Cold feet stand where no one stood before
We hope to see trees in bloom we hope to see them all we hope to see afternoon we hope to see night fall we hope to see beauty come we hope to see life knew we hope to see the moon run
Sudden 15 minute poem before I sleep because Why not.
The light, the light, it is oh so bright As I run around in the yard with my kite. He talks to me while he is in the sky "Hey" I said, he replied with "Bye". I started to plea "I need you to stay!"
My eyes may see the colors in my life but my heart sees the colors I feel deep inside. Red, Orange, Yelow, the warm colors that express joy and happiness. Green, Blue, Violet, the cool colors
The princess dances, draped in all the world's white: white shoes, white fan, white skirt and train,
She is alive
Whisping through the air, like beautiful strands of hair, white as a ghost at a haunting, floating in the wind never taunting, a dirty little secret it tries to keep, but everyone knows it likes to creep,
The great buffalo Was a great liar. He promised food And warmth
They told us we would never make it this far but if they could see how they look now. Like pinpricks of blood, dried and hardened, that were long ago shed and long since forgotten. And growing up we were always told,
If life is like an open book, My pages are made of glass. As I carefully make each turn, Time continues to pass. A rip is like a crack, In the story of my life. Any kind of peril,
Rain is our weather.
The Sun rises. Glory, Happiness, New Life. The Sun moves. Progress, Change, Lessons learned. The Sun sets. Hardship, Upheaval, Violence.
Do you ever feel paper thin? See-through, transparent Like everyone knows what you’re thinking Even before you’re thinking it. Do you ever feel naïve? Inexperienced, unprepared
“Step on a crack Break your momma’s back.” That’s what they’d chant, All the kids on the block. We’d go around on tiptoes Avoiding the fractures; Like walking on glass. It meant so much to us,
Poetry, is anything the truth? A lie isn't a lie and to die isn't to die. A thing is another. If someone stands for someone else does the second someone sit?
The tiny pink pads of your feet putter against my skin like distracted fingertips drumming out a playful tune --- consistent, assuring ---- leaving paw prints on my heart in the sweetest of ways.
One beautiful morn, so fresh and oddOn a distant crag, a man did trodHe raised his blade to hew a perchAnd from the gouge three stones did lurchThe first was quite pale and buffed to soft green
To Walk a Mile in the Rain
I and Pi personify and roll the die on you and I; We think, we speak, we spin, we creak, the beat is 2-pi, you and I, you-I, you-I, you-I, you-I, you-I
An empty casket appears before me I cast my eyes upon the hapless victim This man is my own self There are no mourners attending this funeraul Because the man is technically not even dead
Everyday in class I try to understand,Life's big picture that is so grand.To my English teacher,The curtains are black-blueBecause the author wants them to.This feeble talk of meaning has put me down under.
Your out of line And God said to get out of line. Are you too blind? You are no longer bound Bound by material things! Yet tears come to your eyes, Cause your soul is dyed.
i'm a leaf being blown across the highway. A rag doll being thrown to the side. i'm controlled by my surroundings. i',m dependent of what others have in mind,
Probably for the best. Some would not be responsible and burn the building down.
The sun rises rises in my soul. The rays dance and explodelike lyrics hitting the ear. I am the song. Illusionsshatter like glass. I morph into a dazzling tapestry of shadow and light. Thesetting sun no longer reminds me of death.
Do you see my unicorn?She is pure white, her mane shining in the moonlight.Her fur is soft, like a chick's downy fluff.Within her sweet eyes, is where something lies.
Dead! My love is dead! Taken from me prematurely By silver wrought through his heart, Murdered By a man no more virtuous than himself Immortal heart impaled My sisters slayed, bodies flayed
The sounds of a sweet bird; lively, buoyant, and free, The sounds of a bitter bird; bleak, melancholy, and confined.
I want to sleep...I really do. He's calling just beyond the avenue. Tight curb, love in the low life suburbs. Patiently waiting for me.Sich schminken to hide a brutally gentle tide.
I have placed this pen in a behemothic, spherical object, Where it is not required to nest in the area it was assigned to, But it has the option to wander around, And perform what it desires.
Run Jack, run, For they merely Do not see That unto thee That they cast Their stones and Harsh crosses made Of the wood of Trees of ignorance And doubt pronounced
Sitting at home on a hot summer's day, A pen in my hand, What in my poem could I possibly say? There on the balcony the blue jay sits, His feathers shining beneath Nature's light,
In the night, I heard a songbird sing. It was such a sight to see the most beautiful thing. Every night, he would flap his wings and then, start singing.
Today is a day That I will dream I will dream of undreamable things I will make up words I will make up songs Even if the world doesn't want to sing along
We walked hand-in-hand Through the woods With the sun at our backs The air tasting like salt And the sound of water hitting rocks, We approached the lake. It's funny, I'm the size of an